When I think back to 2014, several items stick in my mind; my father’s bout with chemotherapy, an invasion of grandchildren; minimal writing (although what I did accomplish concerned just one novel, which in itself is quite unique), the San Francisco Giants winning their third World Series in five years (lol), and road trips. Oh, and one other fascination.
2014 was the year I fell in love with quilting.
Okay, sewing. I fell in love with sewing, which to my mind means quilting. All I sew are quilts, well, mostly quilts. I’ve made a few pillowcases, amped up some burp cloths, zig-zagged the edges of fraying hand and bath towels. But honestly, my foray into the world of sewing revolves around quilts. This hobby hit me like a ton of bricks, but in a soft, cottony manner that eased other truths that have been drizzling like a cold, miserable storm.
My father’s health is failing, and we’re not exactly sure why. Mom is calling the doc today, to discern what Dad’s persistent and chemo-less caused nausea is all about. Dad has MRIs this week, and I’ll be there, for support. Next week we’ll get the results, and while the news might be less than stellar, I hope we learn why Dad is suffering.
At this point, truth is better than ignorance.
As for this whole quilting gig, Dad started it. Well, his quilt was first, to stave off the chemotherapy chills, but my eldest is the instigator, much like she was for the writing. On the first of February, that young woman and I went to a local fabric store, and I left with a horde of fat quarters that led to a nearly all hand-sewn effort that was given to my father. Dads are great for overlooking the flaws, of which there were many in that project. And that quilt led to many others, which were easy to piece together in a fragmented year that saw road trips overtake time spent at my computer. Stories were thrust to the back burner as blankets came to life, for it was less taxing on my aging brain to sew than to write.
But it wasn’t just that I couldn’t write; running a rotary cutter through layers of fabrics was calming. Choosing coordinating cottons soothed, plotting patterns on the quilt wall beat trying to sort a behemoth of a novel that still teases. I have no idea what 2015 will bring, other than a couple of babies whom I ache to hold. More grandchildren are due, which makes me wonder just what is going to happen with my father.
This is the joy and mystery of life; no one knows what truly lies ahead.
In the meantime, I can’t begrudge anything that occurred this year, for each and every event adds to the whole that is today, 29 December 2014. I received a new cutting mat for Christmas, which shall facilitate baby quilts I need to make, yay! I also have some reading to catch up on, my own books to revise, plus a couple of biographies, one about Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who also played his part in my quilting adventures. And if asked which of these initial blankets captures my heart most, I’m led back to two particular quilts sewn early in the year, when I was still a complete noob; my father’s chemo quilt, and the Mijos comforter, which Buttercup loves. (My daughter and son-in-law like it too.)
Not only is the Mijos quilt for that cluster of children, but it was sewn during Lent, when Dietrich and his beloved Maria were much on my mind. I could say Dietrich Bonhoeffer was another 2014 obsession, but when compared to everything else this year wrought, Bonhoeffer slips down to the bottom of this post. But that quilt remains one of my most pleasing accomplishments.
And of course, Buttercup agrees. What could be better than that? Small joys of a happily napping hound pave the way for 2015. More on those expected grandkids soon, and hopefully some concrete answers about my dad’s health. I won’t even attempt to speculate on all that 2015 will present. At least I don’t have to assume the Giants will take the pennant. I have a whole year for them to sort out another championship, bless their hearts. I wish for you a peaceful and fulfilling 2015. It may not happen in a manner you would expect, but that’s the wonder of life.